


Only Human

by IRegretNothingAndEverything



Series: The Lives of John Hamish Watson and William Sherlock Scott Holmes [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: All the Holmes children are Autistic yes, Anderson is kinda dickish, Autistic Eurus, Autistic Mycroft, Autistic Sherlock Holmes, But no one is gonna stop me, Cause I find it cute., Donovan is actually rather not bitchy, Eurus isnt crazy in this, Gay, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, I really need to stop doing the thing im doing where i write a thing and make a verse around it, I wanted to write so that I could have a bit more of this specific verse, Just a little reaction thing, M/M, Mute Eurus, Muteness, Only three of these tags are actual tags, Why Did I Write This?, and Sherlock had blocked her out cause she was rather a jerk to him in the beginning, and i have to fight someone, as good of a relationship the Holmes can have with each other, but i dont care for Anderson and it... kinda shows, but she learned how to be better, but still kinda iffy, but thats just him, but they became a good sibling relationship, cause she was kinda crazy in the beginnig, cause then everything goes off the rails, i need to not be interuptted when im writing, i wanna explore her character a little bit more, she came back, shes just their little sister who disappeared for a long while, since mother and father sent her away, so now that isnt as bad, which brings me to this, whoops, why am I this way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-03 17:42:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13346247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IRegretNothingAndEverything/pseuds/IRegretNothingAndEverything
Summary: Okay, so, this is a little thing where the John and Sherlock get together, and then peoples reactions to said getting together.





	Only Human

**Author's Note:**

> This is BC (Before Cats) so, there you go. That's how I'm making everything. BC (Before Cats) AC (After Cats) and then, maybe? AD (After Dog)??? Maybe???

For the first few weeks of this two months that many others around them began to dub the “Holy Crap They Got Together” event, Sherlock seemed to distance himself from John, only talking to him on cases, and even then, coldly and not as much as usual. John didn’t like it, but it was Sherlock. He did this kind of thing all the time, and never once did John mention it before, so why should he do it now? Its not like anything had changed that much, really, he was always kind of hurt when Sherlock did this kind of thing.

It was true, John hadn’t changed, but Sherlock had. He was the reason this was different. While John, unbeknownst to Sherlock, had had feelings of the not so friend kind for Sherlock almost since they met, Sherlock was just now starting to realize his own feelings and how they worked, and what they were in relation to other people. For instance, he had just realized how his feelings for Molly Hooper worked. She seemed to quite like him, and, while yes, he too enjoyed her, it wasn’t the same way that she did to him. Molly was a wonderful friend.

On the other hand, when it came to John. Sherlock wasn’t quite sure what he was feeling there, and almost didn’t want to know about it, since it… scared him. Feelings like this weren’t normally something one had to learn as extensively as Sherlock did. He did as much research as possible, causing his accidental withdrawal from John. He didn’t want to further these feelings without knowing what they were and why they were.

It took nearly three weeks, but he finally realized that there was no way that it could be anything different from what that very first google result had told him. “Love” was a chemical composition caused by impulses in the brain that fired off around certain things or people, and Sherlock’s brain fired side impulses when around John, or thinking about John or anything to do with John.

Sherlock loved John and dear lord he was trying to pretend he wasn’t, but it wasn’t working.

The moment he realized that it wasn’t working was in the middle of the night while Sherlock was playing, and realized he was playing what he had written for John and Mary’s wedding, except he wasn’t thinking about that night. It was more... just John.

The violin stopped with a screech, and Sherlock put it down quickly. He heard Rosamund begin to cry, and then John getting up, picking up the girl to calm her down, before starting down the stairs to check on him as well. Sherlock thought a moment, knowing he should pick his violin back up to make it seem like he was okay, but couldn’t bring himself to do that.

John appeared in the doorway of the living room, with the eight-month-old child in his arms. “Sher?” His tired voice was quiet, seeing as Rose had calmed down, sniffling softly in his arms.

“I’m alright John… I apologize for waking you two, I just… realized something.” Sherlock turned and grabbed a paper from the desk, sitting down and beginning to write something, eyebrows furrowed.

“Are you sure?” John shifted Rose slightly in his arms, the girl falling back asleep easily once the disturbance was gone.

“Yes. Go back to sleep John. I’m fine.” He smiled slightly towards him, and John nodded, not fully convinced, but still went back upstairs.

That paper he wrote on, Sherlock stabbed into fireplace mantle, staring at it a moment, before hesitantly picking the violin back up and beginning to play Bach, hoping it would distract him from the Waltz.

 Things returned to semi-normalness for the next couple weeks, other than Sherlock getting up in the middle of any night he wasn’t sleeping and going to the mantle to reread the note he had stabbed into it. It always ended with him stabbing it there once more and pulling out his violin to play until the moment the sun started peaking up over the horizon, which was, coincidentally, the moment that Rosamund decided everyone in the house had had enough sleep.

Finally, after nearly a month and a half of this broken sleeping schedule, and pretending he was sleeping when John stumbled downstairs with Rose in his arms, John noticed that one paper on the mantle never changed. It just sat there, unchanging other than the knife mark getting bigger as time went on. He passed Rose onto Molly one day, saying he needed a little bit of time to talk to Sherlock without her around, since it might get a little bit loud and confusing. Molly, graciously, took Rose out for the day.

While Sherlock was distracted, staring out the window thinking about god knows what, John went over to the mantle, taking the knife out from the single paper on there, and then putting the knife down gently. Sherlock didn’t seem to notice, and John went into the kitchen, unfolding the paper.

_John_ Sherlock’s elegant writing greeted him.

_I have a problem, and I am not sure exactly how to deal with it, seeing as it involves… feelings. Something, as I’m sure you know, I have no clue how to handle properly._

_This has to do with you as well, and, if I do give it to you, or you finally read this off the mantle, then you should know that it isn’t negative, as I have no problem with telling people how I feel when I do not like them. Which means, through process of elimination, its something positive._

_I have spent years as your friend, your best friend, according to you, and I have heard you say many, many, times before that you are not gay. Not attracted to males, and thus… not to me._

_This is where my problem lies. I am very attracted to you, and, if my deductions are right, I love you. Chemical reactions in the brain, and I very much doubt you care enough to read through an entire paper about how love is just a chemical construct, so I won’t go into that._

_However, there is still problems. I am known as unfeeling, cold, and yet I am still finding myself awestruck by you, you of all people, you who I’ve known for ages, who I have seen go with so many people to the point of knowing the type of person you normally go for, and of course, while I fit partially, I don’t fit like a puzzle piece._

_I don’t like thinking about this, but I will be for ages now, I’m sure. Seeing as I have no clue what to do, the one thing that has finally stumped Sherlock Holmes, is this. Simply love. If only they knew that was all that it took to stump me._

_I don’t understand this. The one thing I don’t understand how to fix is this. Its you. You’re the one thing that can stump me, that can take everything and suddenly, I have no clue how to handle it. I’m… I’m scared, John._

_You have a daughter. You’re mourning the life of your wife, the wedding of which I was the best man. Where I helped save the life of you commanding officer. You’re still hurt, I can tell the pain sometimes when Rose gets to be a bit too big of a reminder of Mary, and I can’t help you. I don’t know how. Yet, you stay around me, and, on those days, you’re around me more often. I can’t begin to understand it, how your brain works, but you continue whatever this is._

_No matter how I try, I always find myself back at the conclusion I love you in the exact way that my mother and father love each other, how you and Mary loved one another, and I feel as if this isn’t going to work the say I hope it would._

_Please forgive me this._

_Sherlock._

John stared at the note a moment, letting it sink in, before blinking once and chuckling softly. He went upstairs, going up and placing the note on his bedside table, finding his own paper and pen before writing something of his own.

Once back downstairs, he found Sherlock still unmoving, staring off into the street. John went to the mantle, then stabbed his own note down, before retreating upstairs and waiting.

 

It took a couple hours, but Sherlock finally went to the mantle to read the note again, in the same torture as he put himself through daily, but stopped right as he got to the mantle. His note wasn’t there, but another was. Different paper, different writing, different pen. Sherlock realized what that meant, and almost panicked, but slowly took the knife out of the paper, hands shaking as he sat down and read it.

**Sherlock** John’s writing was blockier than his own, printing instead of the cursive Sherlock preferred.

**I never thought for a moment that this is how this would play out. I always had thought I would be on the side you found yourself on, wondering if this could work, if this was anything that could happen.**

**I spent the time around you when those days got bad, because of the fact your very presence comforts me. Even if you’re cold at times, and completely silent for days on end, you still comfort me when I’m down, even if you don’t realize you’re doing it.**

**I may mourn for Mary, and I always will, but its easier now. You made it easier for me to keep going, because I too… love you.**

**I didn’t think that I would be the once replying to this. I thought it would be you, and you, being you, wouldn’t feel the same, and yet, here we are, writing notes to each other like teenagers confessing our love for one another.**

**You know where to find me.**

**John**

Sherlock stared at the note, before placing it on his desk and going upstairs. John’s bedroom door was open, unusual for him, and Sherlock noticed that Rosamund wasn’t there. Slowly, Sherlock walked into the room, seeing John on the bed, playing on his phone, Sherlock’s note sitting on the bedside table.

John looked up as Sherlock entered, setting aside his phone, and sitting up, patting the place next to him. Sherlock sat down slowly, shuffling his feet in a nervous reaction he never really expected from himself.

John noticed it, then chuckled softly. “No what you expected from today, was it?”

“No, I suppose not…” Sherlock sighed softly, glancing at John, fidgeting with his sleeve.

John nodded slowly, smiling slightly, then leaned over and kissed him quickly, lightly. Sherlock started slightly, staring at John a moment, before relaxing slowly.

“Have you ever…”

“No… You’re the only one I’d ever… thought of…”

“Ah…” John hummed slightly, then tugged Sherlock over, kissing him quickly again.

 

A little while later, Mrs. Hudson returned home from shopping, and realized it was rather quiet, but Sherlock and John’s coats were still by the door. When home, Sherlock had taken to playing violin as much as possible, or staring out the window. He wasn’t by the window when she pulled up, and thus she had expected violin.

She set everything down, putting away anything that needed to be put in the fridge or freezer, then headed upstairs, peeking into the living room, before noticing that John’s door was open. Strange, since he always shut it. Hudson went upstairs, knocking on the doorway as she peeked into the room, and-

John yelped, sitting up, yanking a blanket over him and the person next to him. Both were naked, as Hudson had figured out by the quick accidental look, and she stared a moment, before the person next to him sat up and.

“Oh, I knew it!” Hudson couldn’t contain herself, grinning. “You two are together, I knew it!”

“Mrs. Hudson…” John groaned softly, shaking his head, falling back onto the pillows. Sherlock tilted his head slightly.

“Mrs. Hudson, I’m sorry to say, but, this relationship is… only about three hours old. All those times you said we were, we weren’t. Not then.”

Mrs. Hudson sighed softly, shaking her head. “Whatever. You two are still together, I knew it. Next time, shut your door.” And with that, she shut their door, going back downstairs, their mortified faces forever burned into her mind.

 

When Molly came to drop Rosamund off, Sherlock and John had gotten dressed, and Sherlock was the one to open the door. His eyes lit up, and he took Rose from her arms, grinning slightly.

“Hey there, Rosie…” He cooed softly, a sight that Molly was sure she was never going to get used to. Sherlock seemed to realize something then, and motioned for Molly to come in, calling up to John.

“John… John, I have a question. If I was Rose’s godfather, what does that make me now?”

“Uhm… I don’t know. Her dad? I mean… you are her godfather still, but now you’re… what the hell…”

Molly followed Sherlock up the stairs. “What do you mean, now?” Sherlock turned to her, eyes widening slightly, and then he coughed into his elbow to pretend he didn’t know what she meant. Clearing his throat and then fleeing into the living room, sitting in his chair, wrapped around Rose.

As John’s laughter began to ring through the room, Molly stepped in, still obviously confused. “Uhm, John? Care to answer.”

“Oh, oh, okay, I’m sorry, I just, look at him.” Just as he said that, Sherlock stuck his tongue out at John, and John fell into laughter again.

Mrs. Hudson cam bustling in out of the kitchen. “They’re together now, dear. They finally stopped beating around the bush and actually went for it. Sherlock, dear, I think it simply makes you Rose’s father now.” Sherlock nodded slowly, and continued playing with Rose, who was giggling and trying to grab onto Sherlock’s hair.

Molly stared a moment, before smiling. She had always held something for Sherlock, and yet, she felt content on seeing them together. John had gotten up, going to kneel in front of them to play with his daughter as well. They seemed happy, and Molly knew in that moment she had properly gotten over Sherlock. Seeing those to happy had done it.

As she left, she knew that they were good together, and always would be.

 

Cases didn’t stop, even when they were in their honeymoon phase, which… wasn’t really a thing for them. They just kept as they were, except the upstairs bedroom was now strictly Rose’s, Sherlock was sleeping better, considering John against his chest, and there were a lot more kissing going on than there was before.

Lestrade called them in on a case, but he wasn’t there. Anderson and Donovan were, however, and Sherlock was immediately annoyed with them, since, even though they had been together for nearly a year, they still were in that honeymoon phase. John was right next to him the entire time, hoping that he wouldn’t get too annoyed with them to the point where he snapped. He also noticed that Anderson was staring suspiciously at the hand that John had in Sherlock’s pocket, where their hands were intertwined to keep Sherlock from exploding on them, as he tended to do. John took out his phone, then set it up to record voices, sliding it gently into his breast pocket.

As Sherlock began his deductions, he was unwilling to let go of John’s hand, but still gestured around with it, not as drastically as with his other, as to keep John comfortable, and John was snickering softly with it, seeing as Sherlock was still tugging him slightly, forcing John to be against his side so that he wouldn’t be tugged onto his toes.

Anderson kept staring at them, eyes narrowed slightly, as if unsure if he was actually seeing what he was seeing. John smiled at him, looking to Sherlock, then, in a moment where he took a breath, a rare moment, he leaned up and kissed Sherlock’s cheek quickly, before settling back down. Sherlock, still unused to the physical affection, blushed, but kept going strong in his deductions.

The moment he stopped, Sherlock turned, and John followed, as Sherlock still wouldn’t let go of his hand, not that John minded. However, Anderson followed them, Donovan trailing behind him, murmuring to him, though he ignored her. Anderson marched up to them, and Sherlock stopped, turning on his heel to face him, John walking with the heel turn, humming a moment, glancing down at his phone in his breast pocket. Sherlock caught the movement, then smiled for a split second, letting the smile fall once he turned to Anderson.

“So, the psychopath finally found someone, huh?” Anderson crossed his arms, and Sherlock just barely twitched.

“I’m not a psychopath, I’m…” At that moment, he realized that he couldn’t finish his normal retort there. He wasn’t a sociopath either, at least, not now… He had John, and sociopaths weren’t known for falling in love.

“A disgusting waste of space?” Anderson filled in for him, and suddenly Sherlock had his arms full of an angry John, holding him back so he wouldn’t lunge at Anderson, who didn’t get the message of pissed-off-solider-doctor-John. “Seriously, I didn’t take you for a faggot, Sherlock.”

Both John and Sherlock froze, and John popped his neck, Sherlock letting go of him, though not his hand, still. John leaned closer to Anderson, eyes narrowed slightly. “I was a solider, Anderson. I’ve killed people. Yet, you think it’s a clever idea to piss me off.”

“You were a doctor.”

“Which means I know where every bone, vein, and artery is on your body. Don’t piss me off.” John was speaking through his teeth at that moment, and Sherlock gently tugged him back, reining him in just like John often reined in Sherlock. Anderson seemed rightfully freaked out, and nearly fled. Donovan stared a moment, then huffed softly.

“Listen… while I may not agree with your relationship, it’s your life, I can’t fight that, and I can’t deny that you two fit together well… you two rein each other in, and make sure either of you don’t do something that the other would regret. I’ve seen the change in Sherlock since you showed up, John, and its certainly for the better. So… ignore him. He’s an asshole…” Donovan glared over at Anderson, huffing softly, then looked back at Sherlock and John, before waving and walking away from them, going towards Anderson, who waved down a cab for them.

“Trouble in paradise…” John mumbled, shaking his head slightly. Sherlock chuckled softly, as John took his phone from his pocket and stopping the recording. “Think Greg’s with Mycroft?”

“Lestrade? Probably.” Sherlock failed at making it not obvious that he had once again forgotten Lestrade’s first name. “Do we have to go see them though?”

“Do you want to get rid of Anderson?”

“Fine.”

 

Mycroft’s house was off the beaten path, and it took a long while to get there, leaving John to review what they had gotten from Anderson to where it was relevant. Sherlock was holding onto him, humming the waltz he wrote softly.

John was once again left to pay, but Sherlock waited for him, probably due to a reluctance to go see his brother. He dismissed the cabbie, deciding to take one of Mycroft’s cars, since they rivaled Mrs. Hudson’s car in quality.

John had to nearly drag Sherlock up the step to the porch, holding onto his hand to keep him from running off. His whole apprehension was because Mycroft had, much like Sherlock, mellowed out since he had started dating Lestrade. John pointed this out, and Sherlock huffed softly, finally letting himself be dragged into the house.

Normally, Sherlock would barge into the house, but, after an incident not unlike the one with Mrs. Hudson, except in the kitchen… Sherlock still won’t eat at that table, let alone enter the house without knocking. John was the one to knock, letting Sherlock stand behind him, arms around him, swaying slightly.

Lestrade was the one to answer, and, since he was fully dressed, both knew it was safe.

“Ah, boys, from the crime scene?” Sherlock nodded, following John as he walked in, being rather clingy today. Lestrade stared a moment, before grinning slightly. “You two finally figured it out?”

“Shush. Anyways, we have something to show you. Where’s Mycroft?”

“Sick. Food Poisoning.”

“You that bad at cooking?” Sherlock grinned slightly, already tugging John towards Mycroft’s room. Lestrade shook his head, shutting the door.

“We went out to eat yesterday, and I don’t think Mycroft is ever going to go out again.” The vague sound of vomiting drifted from the room, and Lestrade went inside, leaving Sherlock and John outside the room.

When Lestrade came out of the room to tell them that it was now safe, the two sprung away from each other, trying to pretend that they hadn’t just been making out against the wall, though the blushes on both them easily gave them away, if Lestrade hadn’t already seen them.

“Alright you two lovebirds, come on, what did you want to show me.”

They stepped into the room, where Mycroft was hidden under the blankets, the sound of typing coming from his blanket prison. Lestrade sighed, taking the blankets away and then the laptop that Mycroft was on. Mycroft yelped, attempting to take it back, but only succeeding in falling off the bed. Lestrade saved his work, then left the room.

“Mycroft…” Sherlock slowly went over, helping Mycroft back into the bed, where he huffed again. “I have things I need to do, tell him to give me back my laptop!”

“It won’t work. I could do a number of things, and yet he wouldn’t give in, saying you need rest to properly get better, or something of that, and not tell me where the laptop is, and, even if his behavior gave it away, he’d just hide it again from you the moment we left.”

Mycroft huffed a sigh, and closed his eyes. “Fine… I’ll just… he took the remote with him, its in his pocket, ughhhh.” He flopped sideways onto the bed, pouting.

“You never were very good at resting when sick…” Sherlock chuckled, and John went over to Sherlock, leaning against him.

“And you aren’t good at not making out in my hallway. Which you shouldn’t do.” Mycroft glared at all three in the room as Lestrade walked back in.

“Alright, Alright, what did you want to show me, John?” John hummed, taking his phone out of his pocket, and starting the recording where he had placed it, which was at the tail end of Sherlock’s deductions. He held up a finger to keep them quiet to listen, so, when Anderson’s voice popped up, he leaned against Sherlock, grinning slightly.

“Anderson does know that his commander is gay, right?” Mycroft’s voice came from under a pillow, where he had started attempting to smother himself. Lestrade took the pillow, tossing it onto the chair next to the bed.

“Obviously not.” Sherlock muttered, closing his eyes. “Donovan seemed frustrated with him, even. Wonder if they’ll finally break up, those two don’t fit together at all.”

“I’ll see what I can do. Send that to me, John.”

“It has all of Sherlock’s deductions in it too, so…” John leaned back against Sherlock, tapping away on his phone, while Mycroft and Sherlock stared each other down, just as Eurus popped in the doorway.

“Sis! How long have you been there?” Sherlock grinned slightly, and Eurus shrugged slightly, then looked at John and Sherlock, eyes narrowed slightly, before they widened, and she turned to Lestrade and Mycroft. Mycroft nodded slightly, and she grinned, going over to Sherlock to hug him quickly before bouncing away from him, and back out the door, as if she hadn’t been there at all.

“She’s been doing better, I presume?” Sherlock asked, shifting slightly to get a tiny bit closer to John, smiling slightly.

“Oh, most certainly. She is starting to write notes now, always small, and short, but it is progress towards speaking. I’ve been showing her sign language as well, and I think she’s picking it up and enjoying it. I often catch her signing the letter to herself to calm down. She seems to be like you in taking a liking to the letters p and r.”

It took a little while, but, eventually they left, taking one of Mycroft’s cars with them. Once home Mrs. Hudson passed Rose John, and Sherlock cooed at her a moment before running up and starting to work through the case, pacing back and forth.

All was well in their little world.

**Author's Note:**

> This was waaaaay longer than I expected it to be, and it took longer than I thought it would, but here you go, this mess of a whatever the fuck.


End file.
